I’m Sorry For Being ‘That’ Friend

me-and-babies

In my lifetime, I’ve taken on many different job roles – some were fun, some were boring, some were challenging whilst others where just hard. Not one, however, comes close to how hard being a Mother is (I say Mother, but I really mean parent – I know Dads feel the full stretch of the hardship as well).

It’s  one of those things – no one ever expects it to be easy…it’s not something I think people look at and picture to be breezy either. Before we embark on the wonderful, turbulent journey of parenthood, we envisage some struggles. I mean, we’ve all been in  situations where we’ve been driven crazy by someone else’s child before, haven’t we?

Whether it be the high pitched scream of a newborn whilst you surf the medicine aisle in Sainsbury’s (in search of paracetamol to cure to drastic migraine which has been bugging you all day); the annoying body-shirk as your aeroplane chair is kicked from behind for the twentieth time; the overly-friendly glares of a curious toddler as you try to eat peacefully or the witnessing of brattish behaviour…we’ve all thought ‘I hope my child doesn’t act like that’.

Reality check – they will! If you intend on becoming a Parent, you’ll undoubtedly find yourself in ALL of these scenarios, you’ll undoubtedly find yourself causing the unnecessary suffering of some poor child-free victim just trying to survive their own day.

It’s hard!

Some women transition into Motherhood seamlessly – as though they’ve spent their entire childhood prepping for the moment they make ‘Mother’. Me? It wasn’t so smooth. Before having children, I wasn’t what you would call maternal. I shied away from children, made excuses not to visit friends who had already transitioned into Mother. I told myself that our friendships were dwindling because they didn’t have time for me, because they’d changed now that they had kids. I passed up their invitations to soft play areas, strolls along the seaside in exchange for more mature offers – whilst still telling myself that they were the ones now not making the effort. I forgot to buy Birthday presents, spent my money on less interesting purchases.

tris-and-siena

I’m sorry!

I’m sorry for the ignorance, for the lack of understanding of just how much you needed me.

One of the hardest parts of becoming a parent was feeling as though I’d lost a part of me. I mean, undoubtedly, I gained so much simultaneously but there were still parts of me I noticed retracting. It became hard to be as fun, as care-free, as spontaneous and as relaxed as the former child-free me had once been. My days became cluttered with nappy changes, feeds, rocking and sterilising. As the Mother in me grew, the glamour in me diminished. I can, with full certainty, tell you that I felt lows I never expected.

In the early days, I craved moments where I could feel like my old self again…And, although I cherished the rekindled bonds between those friends who had already transitioned, I missed the irresponsible conversations I once shared with my non-mummy friends. I knew, of course, that being my friend was becoming harder for them. I remembered being the one bored by stories of miniature milestones, trying to look interested in tales of milky poo and sore nipples. I recalled feeling uncomfortable handling the new born babes of my friends, almost desperate to hand them back over without seeming uncaring or insensitive. I understood what my friends were now feeling, how I had become less interesting.

us

 

It made me sad.

Sad in the realisation that once beforehand, my Parent friends had needed my distraction. They needed that silly, random talk as much as before. They wanted a fresh, less anxious perspective, a moment for themselves. They wanted a rest – a rest from baby talk, from feeds and from rocking. They wanted to remember who they once were, who they still were beneath the baby sick and shepherd’s pie crustations.

me-and-kay

So this is for my Mummy friends – I truly apologise for being so rubbish at a time you needed me the most. I was selfish and unable to see what gift I’d been given. Had I known how maternal you now felt, I would have tried harder to understand how amazingly turbulent the journey you faced felt. I wouldn’t make excuses or shy away from what could have been some brilliant memories together. If I could do it all over again, I would appreciate more that being your friend now meant being an Auntie, I’d give your arms a break with gratitude of still being able to be a part of your life (now that your priorities had rightfully changed), for being a part of your child’s life and for trusting me with your most precious possession.

To my child-free friends – although I can’t be sorry that my priorities changed, I’m sorry for not involving you more. I could have made more effort to respond to texts or avoid turning conversations back round to being baby related. I could have told you more that I needed you to remind me of who I once was, that I needed the distractions from Motherhood and parenting. I should have listened to your stories of drunken debacles with the same interest I once showed – those moments felt important to you (rightfully so) and what is important to you – will always be important to me.

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Life isn’t always easy and all we can do is try our best at making things less painful, more enjoyable. Now that the rollercoaster is settling, I’m trying to regain the parts of me I once felt were being replaced. I couldn’t have done any of this without the strength and compassion of all of my friends!

so, to all of you – thank you for bearing with me!

Love you xxx

 

 

 

That Brilliant Bond


The day I discovered I was pregnant second time round, I felt immediate doubt. It’s not that we didn’t want you, the timing just didn’t seem to fit.

Your Brother was only 15 weeks old…and extremely needy. He wasn’t an easy baby, he was demanding and highly strung. He slept poorly, ate poorly and digested poorly. I think it’s fair to say that me and your Father had more than our hands full. 

But, there’s still no denying how truly blessed we felt (on both accounts).

Our dream was always to have two children – a boy then a girl – but we hadn’t anticipated our dream coming true quite so soon.

What worried me the most about having another baby was how your Brother would cope with it. He was meant to be close to one by the time you were due – still so young, still such a baby hisself. I worried that my attention would be taken up by our new arrival, that I’d miss all the important milestones in his life. I felt as though bringing another baby into the equation would detract from the quality of time I’d be able to give him. It almost felt as though I’d be replacing him for a younger model. 

I convinced myself that he’d hate me – after we’d worked so hard to build a bond. I told myself relentlessly that he’d feel rejected, abandoned, neglected. 

I overcompensated throughout your pregnancy, pushing myself to the limit so he’d never feel as though I was treating him any differently. I made a promise to him that he’d never feel the way I’d told myself he would. Yet, still I worried that the change would be too much for him to handle. 


It was harder for Tristan than most babies, your arrival into the world 9 weeks early meant undoubtedly, he’d feel abandoned. After all, I did for 11 nights whilst you were in intensive care. 

Coming home was always going to be alien, he was always going to sense that he was no longer the baby and feel forced to grow up that little bit sooner. I just hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of you. 

It was important to me that he felt a sense of importance, something to connect you two together. I wanted him to see that he was pivotal in your life, that his role was valuable and irreplaceable. Without doubt, he took to Brotherhood the best way he possibly could. 

From the moment you joined our family, he became your protector. That brilliant bond you both share is genuinely what makes me proud of you both. I can’t help but feel such a sense of pride when I see the way you both are with each other. 

Because of your disability, I’ve worried that I can’t protect you from the harsh and upsetting reality of being different. Even at Two, I can see how some children seem shy to approach you. This breaks my heart, I pray so much that you’ll be accepted – or have the strength to appreciate how beautiful, lovely and  amazing you are. Having your Brother eases this burden. I hope, when you’re older and the bond begins to change, you recall just how nurturing he was. I’ve seen him fight your ground, stand up for you when you’ve been completely oblivious to what’s gone on. He’s almost drawn blood to return toys that were snatched from your hands, called out loud ‘That’s Siena’s – give that back’. He recently trekked from one end of a play area to the other carrying the biggest, heaviest wooden toy because he remembered it was your favourite. He placed it gently by your feet, kissed your head then toddled off to rejoin his friend. Myself and your Nana are often subject to a telling off when he feels as though you’ve been treated unjustly (honestly, we live in fear of forgetting to make you a drink when we’re making his…or give you one sweet if he has two). He holds your hand, he cuddles you constantly and he makes sure you’re well looked after. 


What’s more than this is, he’s your biggest cheerleader. He’s so anxious for you to develop like he has, he celebrates in every milestone more than he did for his own doing. The day you sat unaided,  he applauded you until his hands were red. The day you pulled yourself up for the first time, it was him who brought it to my attention ‘Mama, Dena’s standing’. He loves it when you take one hand in mine and one hand in his and march along the sitting room. He laughs at you so heartedly and beams each morning when he sees your face.


That brilliant bond you have is definitely reciprocated, you’re amazed by your big Brother. You admire him so much! I can see in the way you look up to him that he means the world to you, and I’m sure he always will. I’m proud of the way you copy him, he’s pushed you to talk better, to learn quicker.

Two years on from the worry I once I had, I can honestly say that the best thing me and your Father ever did is bring you into our lives, making our family complete. We’re all so lucky to have you (and we’ve really learnt to appreciate that too)…especially your Brother but you know what? You’re lucky to have him too.

That brilliant bond…well, it’s just brilliant isn’t it?

You’ll Always Be My Tiny Baby


As clićhed as it sounds, I just don’t know where the time has gone. It feels like only moments ago I was preparing for your 1st Birthday. Truthfully, it feels like only moments ago we were welcoming you into the world.

I simply cannot grasp that two whole years have passed us by! 

To say you’ve come far just doesn’t do justice to the journey you’ve been on. In an ideal world, your journey would have been smooth – faultless – but this isn’t the case. We’ve had moments that have shaken me to the core, moments when I’ve just wanted to say enough is enough. There have been moments of heightened frustration, aggravation and desperation. Moments where I’ve felt as though I’ve completely failed you as a Mother, failed you as your spokesperson. 

These moments have crept into our perfect lives and tried their best to break us down, tried to tarnish our spirits. They’ve tested our strength, they’ve tested our resilience. These moments have hit us when we’ve least expected…always when we had just started to believe we were eventually on course.


Throughout them all, it’s easy to say that you’ve never failed to surprise us with your attitude!

Girl, your attitude is astounding.

The day you were born, we nervously joked about the determination in your eyes – your Aunties (who are very special people to us) even have a funny anecdote about how the three of you first bonded. They were there, the moment your Doctor told us you couldn’t be stabilised. We hadn’t realised how poorly you were, hadn’t digested the full extent of your injuries. As myself and your Daddy sobbed hysterically to the nurses, they never left your side…guarding you like angels. You reached your arm above your head, glanced in their eyes and Superman stanced in a way which said ‘I’ve got this’. I still remember their giggles, an alien sound in a room so full of dread that lifted our mood and told us not to worry. From that moment, they’ve sworn they’ve never worried about you.


That determination you showed in your early days was always going to be your most admirable quality – even though we’re at a stage where that same determination can be a challenge. To say you know what you want is a complete and utter understatement. Still, through those more challenging moments, I can’t help stop and marvel at your bold character. It’s that same strength which eradicates any doubts I have about your future. If you approach everything with the same perseverance and persistence, there’s no end to what you could achieve.

Although life is becoming easier again, I embarrassingly admit is that I still struggle this time of year, I still panic. Each day is filled full of fleeting instances when I’m reminded of where you started. Sometimes it’s memories on my Facebook page, snippets of news, smells or things that people may say. 

But life IS getting easier.


In between those splutterings of anxiety, I can’t deny how thoroughly amazing these last two years have been. There are more and more moments each day where I’m left in awe of your sheer brilliance. 

I can’t help but compare how you’re developing with your Brother. At 2, you can already speak much more clearly than he can. You have the same range of vocabulary and can hold a conversation. You no longer babble but communicate with ease and success – Language is already your strength and you’re already capable of voicing your emotions (something so many adults can’t even do). I can’t stress how happy this makes me! Your ability to communicate what you want will lessen the restrictions your disability will create. Having the strength and confidence to say what you need, ask for help, share your feelings will all make life so much easier and more enjoyable for you. 


Language isn’t your only strength –  hands down, my favourite personality trait of yours is your caring and empathetic demeanour. It’s another cliche that little girls are sweet and Motherly; this certainly rings true. You’re gentle and careful, delicate and particular. You care for all your toys with so much love and dedication, so much sentiment and adoration. You’ve so much respect for your environment and those around you that I just hope others treat you with the same level of kindness. 


I hope for a lot of things for you.

Today, I just hope you have a good day. 

Thank you for blessing our lives, thank you for the best two years of my life…and teaching me I have the strength to survive the parts that get hard.


Love Mummy xxx

I’m Talking to You


      I’m fed up.
     I’m fed up of seeing you torment yourself, sick of watching you make yourself suffer. It’s time I told you this – and I need you to listen!

     Our future needs me to say this, say it aloud so that maybe you’ll absorb it. In my mind, there’s a multitude of wants I have for our future, a million goals, dreams and hopes. 


     There’s things I know that you’re capable of, things I know you could achieve – if only you’d let yourself.
You see, I’ve become more aware than anyone recently that there’s only YOU holding yourself back. You’re the only one who puts obstacles in your way, the only one who doesn’t seem to care enough to put in the effort.

     I know it’s not that! You just don’t seem to be able to prioritise yourself. You put everyone and everything above what you need to do for yourself. 


     It’s time you stop it.
     It’s time you learn just what I want for you! What OUR future should look like.
Firstly, I want you to love yourself. For every flaw, for every weakness, I want you to see the beauty that lies therein. You are the one person who puts you down – and you do it endlessly. You think you’re rubbish. You think you’re useless…but the only person making you feel this way is you! You judge yourself endlessly, pressurise yourself to be perfect. It isn’t healthy, it isn’t helpful. There are undoubtedly personality traits you no longer have control of changing, it’s time to accept that this is you. It’s time to love the person that you are. Yes, you lack organisation. Yes, you’re emotional, sentimental and far too empathetic but you’re poisoning the worth in who you are. Those traits that you view as negative – they could be beautiful if you’d only allow yourself to see. Empathy is rare, a skill some are quick to lack. It takes courage and bravery to show emotion, not to be afraid of showing your feelings. Some may view this as weak, I see the strength in not trying to disguise what your heart feels, what your mind thinks. It’s time to cherish you and all that you are.

      It appears you’ve reached the point where you’ve become to believe you don’t deserve the best. It’s almost as though you’ve lost that respect for yourself. I’ve watched you accept poor treatment, allow others to hurt you because you seem to think it’s your fault. Actually, it is! It’s your fault for not recognising that you don’t deserve it. You can’t demand the love and respect of others if you set the precedent that you’re not worth it. I need you to know that you do deserve the best – you, of all people, need to know this. 
You’re selfless and happy to let others place their needs above your own. You strive to please people, even at the deterement of your own happiness. It’s not working out for you – in our future, you must accept that your happiness is vital. You let guilt override decisions to do things you want to do. I’ve heard you apologise to too many people for things you’ve no reason to feel sorry for, things people should be pushing you to do. I fear you’ll start to resent those who you’ve let overrule you. This isn’t fair – it was you who showed them that it was acceptable to do so!

     You’ve come to believe that failure is all you’re capable of. It’s almost as though you expect to fall long before you do. Can’t you see that this is the problem? Success is there, it’s waiting for you to want it. Yes, people may not be willing you. Yes, people are also waiting to see you fail. Why? Because you’ve told them to expect it, you’ve demonstrated that there’s no use in encouraging you to achieve. I’d tell you to make them listen, to show them that you are in control but this feels pointless until you’re ready to listen yourself, until you’re ready to believe in your own abilities. 


     You spend so much time fretting that you’ll be exposed for the mess that you are. Everyday, you worry someone will eventually realise you’re a terrible Mother, a useless friend, a fake and a fraud. Stop worrying – people can’t see what isn’t there. It’s time you gave yourself some credit, cut yourself some slack. Yes, there are ways in which you could be better. Stop wallowing and start working towards making yourself better.
   

  Look – I’m telling you to stop it!

     Stop thinking you’re useless, stop putting yourself down. Stop believing your worth isn’t as important as others!
     Those wants I have for our future – I need you to want them too! 

     It’s time you believe in the notion that you deserve them. It’s time to love you – us! And care about our happiness.
It’s time to be happy.
Lots of Love
You, me, us! 

I’m Trying

I feel like this is something I just keep saying but sometimes, it’s the only thing I know how to say!

Life is hard! I endlessly feel as though we just make it through one hurdle unscathed before we arrive immediately at another one. I’m battling and battling, conquering and succeeding then battling and battling all over again. It’s constant, never-ending.

I naively thought that the answer was leaving work to be with you both. I thought my undisturbed attention, guidance and support was all you needed – all you wanted.
I was wrong.

As it happens, I’ve no idea what you want…from me, from life, from the day, from exsistance! I mean, I get it – you’re both 2! You haven’t figured that shit out yet and I fully understand that there’s no way you could have. I’m 31 and have to confess, I haven’t figured it out either yet but that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s hard!

Some days, it’s ridiculously hard! Some days, I just don’t know how I can ever be enough. Some days, I don’t know how we make it through to bed time! There are days when the two of you just can’t seem to be in each other’s presence. You fight, you bicker, you even physically attack one another! I’m sick of separating you both, making you say sorry to one another. I’m sick of seeing snatched toys and rolling tears…of listening to you both chant “that’s mine, that’s mine”. 


Tristan, I’ve seen you push your sister off the potty mid poo just because it’s yours! I intervened with disbelief at the venom in your eyes, the contempt you felt at the thought of your sister using something you had undoubtedly claimed. 

Siena, I’ve seen you claw away at your Brother’s face, adamant that he won’t touch your ‘Dolly’. I’ve been rendered speechless by the aggression you’ve shown, the satisfaction you’ve felt after making him cry!  

There are days when you both cry simultaneously for no reason whatsoever. Days where you wake up screaming, days where nothing will suffice or please you. These are the hardest days, the days where I’m left crying alone in the kitchen come 6pm when your Dad makes it home from work. These are the days when I feel utterly useless, painfully rubbish and worthless. 


There are days when all we seem to do is shout at one another. Before I was a Mother, I swore I’d never shout at you. I swore, I’d always stay calm and collected. This isn’t so easy when I’ve waited 15 minutes for you to climb in your car seat; when I’ve retrieved your thrown dummy from the ground a million times regardless of the fact I know you’re going to throw it again; when I’ve pleaded and pleaded with you not to do something but you go and do it anyway – when I feel like there’s nothing left for me to try.

There are days when my sanity is tested and I just feel as though I need to call for help (your Nana), for a break. 

The thing is – I’m trying! 

I’m trying harder than I think you two could ever imagine. I’m trying to be the best possible Mum for you that I could ever be. I’m trying to make you both strong, courageous, independent, confident humans. I’m trying to insil passion into you both and nurture your sense of creativity and individuality. I’m trying to make sure you always make the right choices in life. I’m still trying to make the right choices myself!


I’m trying to be a role model that you’d both be proud of. Siena, I trying to show you how to be a strong woman. Tristan, I’m trying to show you how to be a loving, caring, compassionate man. 

I’m trying to keep it together so that you both can rely on me at all times. I’m trying to show you that you can overcome any hurdles of your own. 

What’s more is, I’m trying to be myself as well. To be a good friend, to maintain some sort of social status. I’m trying to be a business woman so I can provide for your every wants and needs. I’m trying to be a wife, a daughter, a helpful granddaughter. I’m trying to be a carer, a personal assistant.

A Person!


There are days when I just feel as though my trying will never be enough for you, that I’ve failed us all. 

Then, there are days like today. Days where we work harmoniously with one another, we have fun and make memories we all can cherish. Days when you both wrap your arms around me and tell me seven times at bed time that you love me. Days when we laugh and play, sing and dance. Days when we accomplish life with enthusiasm and pzazz. 

Those days make it all worth it, make me know just how important my role is. 

So I’ll take the bad days, the tantrums and the tears. I’ll take the days we all cry (and I mean all). I’ll take the tests, the failures and my faults because…

That’s what Mothers do and I’m trying to be the best for you! 

Your Dreams are What Matter! 


I have to admit, as shallow as it sounds, I was desperate to have a little girl. It was just something I’d always imagined for my own life, something I’d definitely hoped for. 

7 year old me would brag on the school yard that some day I was going to have two children. A boy first, of course…and a girl second, so that her older Brother could look out for her. Coming from a family where I had experienced the love and support of having an older Brother, I knew I wanted exactly that for my future. My childhood had been perfect, so much so that I wanted to mirror it for my own children.


The day I discovered I was pregnant, I instinctively knew I was expecting a Boy. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind! As the sonographer revealed the gender, I cheered so proudly to have been right. I had my perfect son – my perfect start to our family. 

Having a son was so important to me, I wanted a boy because I knew how loving they could be, how proud I could feel about raising a man but most importantly, I knew how special older Brothers could be. I already felt so lucky to have one amazing child but my plan was always that my Son would be an older Brother.

When we discovered we were expecting again, my heart ached for you. I know how this sounds and yes – I would have loved a second Son just as much. A healthy child – no matter the gender -would have made me so incredibly happy. But, my life’s plan was always to have you!

Our 20 week scan was on a Tuesday. Your Father had left work early and the three of us headed to the Hospital.  I recall sitting in the waiting room almost pained with eagerness to see you on screen. Obviously, our priority was to know that you were healthy and growing as you should have been. Yet, I just still couldn’t wait to know your sex.


Although too young to comprehend what he was seeing, Tristan looked at you on the screen with so much awe. He marvelled at the flickering image wriggling around contently and he cheered at the noise of your heartbeat. The sonographer told him he was getting a little Sister; I cried and cried with happiness. 

My perfect family was complete! 

Finding out I was getting my girl was such an incredible moment. From being 7, I had high expectations for your future. I had in mind exactly how I wanted you to be.

Without question, you’d have blonde hair and blue eyes. You’d be quirky and individual, confident and assured…undeniably beautiful. I envisaged you’d be good at sport, always energetic and full of desire to achieve. 


In my mind, you’d be a ballerina. A perfectly poised, enigmatic ballerina. At 7 years old, I saw you dancing on stage – people looking at you in absolute admiration. Radiantingly elegant, you’d hypnotise your audience with irrefutable skill. 

I’m going to be honest here, my vision of what I expected from you is almost cruel and unkind. I had expectations of you that even I was incapable of. Expectations of you that most women never accomplish.

Your early arrival in this world taught me some well needed perspective. In the moments where you nearly died, I grieved solely for my little girl, my Daughter. As I watched the Doctors relentlessly trying to stabilise you, I had time to ingest what I was at risk of losing. Hair colour, eye colour, academic or physical ability did not once enter. Instead, I saw only the love I could be denied. 

In the days that followed your birth, I swore never to burden you with unreasonable ideology. Just to have you breathing, just to have you living would always be enough! 

At 17 months old, you were eventually diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. Part of your diagnosis meant accepting the fact that there may be things you’ll never manage to do, physical ailments you’ll harbour all your life. I’m struggling the most with this. 

You see, to me, there’s nothing you can’t achieve!


I once ignorantly worried that my 7 year old vision for your future had been crushed. That I’d never get the chance of fulfilling my dreams for you. I want you to know that I’m aware of how pathetic I have been. My 7 year old dreams for your future were always going to be completely inconsequential.

Something I learnt very quickly about you is your strength of mind. From 9 weeks before you were due to be born, you had your own style of doing things, your own wants and desires. These are what matter the most! 

At almost two, you’re the cutest most quirkiest Doll I’ve ever known. You’re passionate about living, approach everything with a ‘I can’ attitude. It’s this attitude which leaves people spellbound. You’re not even two and already so many have marvelled at your strength, are astonished by your decisive and domineering demeanour. 


Your passion for 80’s disco hits is entertaining and bewildering but you don’t care! You dance your beautiful heart out in whichever way you please. You care only about the pleasure you acquire and not at all about how you are perceived. This is something I hope desperately we can retain. 

Recently, I took you to a ballet class. I must admit, although trying to look calm on the outside, inside I was bubbling with anxiety. I worried that other Mothers would think I was cruel, as though I was forcing you to be something you may never be…may never want to be! I worried that others may think I was delusional, expecting you suddenly to grasp physical demands you’re quite obviously incapable of doing. Mostly, I worried that you’d hate me for pressurising you with those unrealistic dreams I once promised I wouldn’t. 

Of course, you proved me wrong. 

You attempted every dance, giggled with magnificent joy as your legs bounded around the room. You waved your arms side to side and danced with so much pleasure that my heart felt blessed to watch you. 

Every day, you make me realise that there’s literally nothing you can’t do! I’ve no doubt in my mind that you’ll conquer every challenge you decide to take on – whether that be ballet dancing or not. 


But for the moment, you just love to dance. So, go ahead my Unlikely Ballerina and enchant the world.

Lots of love, your biggest fan xx

You Gave Me Purpose


    Purpose. It’s funny to think but the power of purpose is often forgotten about. In our hectic days and manic lives, purpose can become lost or confused, hidden or overshadowed. Yet the power of purpose is phenomenal.
    Purpose drives us forward, pushes us to achieve. 
    Without purpose there’s simply no point. It’s the catalyst for our actions, the sole reason for why we do.

    For so long, I searched for purpose. I lived, I breathed, I existed. But nothing felt worthwhile, nothing felt meaningful. 
A life without purpose just isn’t fulfilling. You can carry out routine procedures but the joy behind it just isn’t felt. It’s sad, when you think about it, to consider that some people never recognise purpose. It’s sad to think that purpose can be so easily masked or mistaken. 

    I had no idea myself just how powerful purpose could be…until there were you!
When you entered my life, you revealed my purpose. I know that this sounds cheesy but I need you to know this. I need you to always remember that my purpose was you! 

    Having children is certainly life altering. There’s times everyday where I still feel so intensely overwhelmed by Motherhood, so intensely submerged. I’d love to say that this was always positive but it’s not. There’s times everyday where I need to say ‘I didn’t enjoy that’ and not be judged. I mean, who really wants to argue with a two year old in public? Who wants to feel undermined by a toddler, with little beady judgey eyes on show? Who wants to feel embarrassed and worthless? Throughout these trying moments, please never forget that I still find reassurance in my purpose.


    Throughout all the mania, there’s something so magical about it all! Something that makes it so outrageously worthy.

    Before your Brother arrived, my body had meant nothing. I’d overworked it, abused it. In an attempt to find purpose, I’d put it under immense duress to stay slim and slender. Your Brother taught me that being ‘skinny’ wasn’t my purpose. As my hips cracked to make way for his arrival, I accepted the full extent of my body’s purpose and worth. The purpose of my body was not to be viewed as beautiful, beauty lay in the roundness of my childbearing belly. The purpose of my body was to protect both you and your Brother – through childbirth and forever after. Your Brother taught me to love my body, to appreciate every curve. 

    Suddenly, I had purpose.


    I had purpose to live, to breathe, to take care of myself the best I could. The change in me began, I felt it from within. Unlike before, the most measly of tasks could supply pleasure. That feeing of pleasure made everything so worthwhile…late nights, early mornings, lack of sleep…all of it had purpose!

    When you arrived, it’s fair to say that I already had purpose but nothing could prepare me for how much more purposeful my life would become. 

    The day you nearly died, I realised my purpose was to make you stronger. Your strength was already admirable but I needed to teach you to WANT to survive. I knew that I needed to teach you to see how magnificent living could be. I needed to teach you that living would be worthwhile! I knew that this could only be accomplished by showing you all the wonders of life, to show you how to be a glass-half-full kind of person. I knew that my only way of succeeding in this would be to change my own mentality (this harder than I’d like to admit, I’ve too many people in my life who ridicule this outlook on living, too many people who’d rather focus on the negatives). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to change.

     Then, the day we discovered you had cerebral palsy, I realised my purpose was also to champion you. Your determination was just as admirable as your strength but I knew that I needed to make you feel the extent of your worth. I realised immediately that I just couldn’t ever allow you to feel self conscious or doubt. The only way I’d succeed in doing this is to show you how to love yourself, that this also meant me having to love myself too (again, this is harder than I first imagined. For too long, I’ve listened to the listing of my flaws, the reasons as to why I shouldn’t). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to accept myself for who I am.

     The day I heard that you may never walk, I realised that my purpose was to support you – both physically and mentally. If your own body won’t supply you the means to show you the world, then mine will. The purpose of my arms is to carry you wherever your heart desires. The purpose of my legs is to walk you wherever your feet want to travel. The purpose of my heart is to love you enough that you won’t feel hurt by the rejection of others. 

   Between you and your Brother, my life will never be short of purpose. Purpose to love you, protect you, guide you and direct you. Having purpose has given me more confidence and strength than I’ve ever felt before. There’s something so gratifying about knowing the importance of your existence. Never before have I felt so comfortable in myself, known what I deserve and what I don’t. 


   So, through all the hard times, the tears and the tests – I need you to know that I’m so grateful for my purpose. 

    Thank you for giving me purpose, thank you for making me a Mother, thank you for giving me the gift of watching you grow.

Love you – Mama 💕